


Groomzilla

by rideswraptors



Series: Gallavich Shorts [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, episode fillers, groomzilla!mickey, shameless-esque language and triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: Basically filler fluff
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gallavich Shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611559
Comments: 16
Kudos: 295





	1. Chapter 1

The door slammed shut, and Ian and the poor caterer turned to each other at the same time, hands out to placate.

“I’m so sorry,” they said simultaneously. The caterer blurted it out first.

“I can call around about the chairs. Or special order them.” 

“Thank you. I’m sorry about him. His dad--”

“Say no more,” the caterer interrupted with a dismissive wave. “We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to be okay, though?” he asked, looking mildly concerned about Ian’s welfare as he took in the destroyed chair on the floor. Ian ran a hand through his hair and laughed nervously.

“Oh, yeah, sure. He’s like a T-rex. If you don’t move too much, he can’t see you and he’ll settle down.”

But the joke fell kind of flat, and Ian was starting to think that this guy had seen more than his fair share of wedding-related meltdowns. It was kind of sad, actually, if he wasn’t reacting too much to Mickey’s violent attack on his display chair. Lip would get a kick out of it anyway.

Ian made sure the guy was okay and left their numbers with him in case he got a lead on the gold chairs, then he shot out the door to go find his fiancé before he got loose and terrorized the city. 

Mickey hadn’t gotten far, actually. He was sitting on a nearby stoop, wrists jammed into his eyeballs with a cigarette already lit. Ian sat next to him and swiped the cigarette in a very familiar move, earning him one of those half-hearted, angry kitten glares. It was hard to take a riled up Mickey seriously sometimes because he was so damn cute. Just got so flustered. Made his blue eyes bluer. 

“So that was a lot,” Ian commented, blowing smoke out and passing the cigarette back. 

“That guy’s retarded.” 

Ian lifted his brows. “That guy’s traumatized, and not by you for once.” Ian put a hand to his shoulder, rubbing. “Thought that was a totally normal response.” Mickey didn’t look too impressed with that statement, though, so he had to try not to laugh. “I am...at a loss here, man. Do you want me to ask? Should I fuck off? What?” 

Mickey dropped his face back into his hands, rubbing. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t know, okay?” 

“All right, well, you figure that out.” He pressed a kiss to Mickey’s head, “And let me know. Because none of the reasons I wanna marry you have anything to do with your fucking dad.” 

Mickey had rolled his eyes, but had simmered down long enough for them to get home without incident, and Ian had thought they were done with it.

**

Apparently not, though, if Sandy’s presence was any indication. Ian almost wanted to smack her when she told them about Terry’s “pansy poppers.” Like Mickey needed any further ammunition to destroy the South Side in his quest to piss off his dad via gay marriage. 

The ring was the last straw though. Mickey was going to have a heart attack, stressing about every damn little thing he could think of. Ian had  _ no fucking clue _ where any of this was coming from, or when Mickey Milkovich started caring about chairs and floral arrangements of all things, but he needed to cool his jets a bit. Ian was already feeling like a jackass for not being gung-ho about a wedding-wedding, now he’d fucked up the chairs, and slipped up with his ring, didn’t have good answers for questions he hadn’t thought about.  _ But _ . There was one fucking thing he did know, and maybe that would help his cause a little. If only to get Mickey to stop being such a dick about everything. 

*

“You’re a sneaky bastard.”

It was as close to a public  _ I love you _ as Mickey would ever get, but it was loud and clear. Ian flashed back to the day he’d come out, how pissed off and beautiful he’d looked. This was different. This was Mickey smiling at him and holding his hand and accepting a romantic gesture without freaking out or running away. It was a hundred thousand miles away from anything Ian had ever expected of him. 

“Well I had to get out of the doghouse somehow,” Ian smirked, squeezing his hand on the table. “I know I’ve been...dragging my feet about the wedding details.” 

“Dragging would suggest that you’ve done anything.” 

Ian lifted his brows pointedly, “ _ But _ I need you to know that I support whatever you want. I just...wanted to remind you that it’s about  _ us _ .” He shook their clasped hands. “Not fucking Terry.”

“I  _ know _ . I know that. I know--”

“But?”

“But...I lied.”

Ian blinked a few times, trying to remember what could have possibly been a moment when Mickey would need to lie. Oddly it felt more like a game instead of giving him any doubts about their relationship, which really said something about his maturity level, he thought.

“I’m blanking, you’re gonna have to help me here.” 

“About the anniversary thing. I do wanna remember that night. I  _ do _ . But I  _ want _ the 24 hours. I want one single not shitty day that’s about you and me doing something. Together. I want you to have a not shitty photo album to embarrass me with in fifty years. I want  _ other _ people to remember it was awesome and not make stupid fucking jokes about me knocking up my old man’s whore.” 

“Ooh!” Ian interrupted, tugging on his hand. “Are they gonna be able to make it?”

“Of course they are!” Mickey snapped. “Because the goddamn whore I knocked up is more supportive of us than my fucking father.” 

“We are the obvious side to pick.” 

“We’re still hiring a guy to do video. And then I’m gonna break into the house like the motherfucking boogey man, tie my dad to the chair and make him watch us get married until his stupid eyes bleed.” 

“I don’t think our wedding video will be  _ that _ bad.” 

“Well maybe I’ll knock him around a little first. Just to get the blood flowing.” 

“For the effect.”

“Duh, Gay Jesus. Because I’m gonna take a video of him watching a video and we’re gonna watch his fat fucking face lose his shit every night before we fuck.” 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Fine. I’ll watch it.”

“Still weird.” 


	2. Pre-Wedding, Post-Fire

When Lip and Debbie went to see about the Polish Doll, Ian shot Sandy a look that had her ushering everybody out of the kitchen. Leaving just Ian and Mickey. Ian sighed when Mickey leaned back against the dryer, hunched and defeated. His eyes weren't glassy from the beer yet, but they were watery. Ian fucking  _ hated it _ . 

"Please. Do not fucking say I told you so."

Ian moved and wrapped him up in a hug, kissing his head, and easily taking the can out of his hand. He kissed his temple again.

"Wasn't gonna."

"You were right though."

"About what?"

Mickey tilted his head back, looking too fucking sad. 

"Anniversary. Should just keep it the day you proposed."

Ian exhaled shakily, staving off his own anger, and moved to stand in front of the love of his life. He cupped his face and swiped at the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs. Silent tears, but present.

"Listen to me, Mickey Milkovich. I don't give a  _ fuck _ where I marry you or how. I'll let everybody go hunting because I know that's what you want, but if we don't find somewhere by 3:00, I am hauling your gorgeous thug ass down to the courthouse and we're signing the fucking paper. Together." Mickey lurched up to kiss him, his arm tight around his waist to keep him steady. His free hand held up mid-air by the cuffs. 

"Today's gonna be our anniversary. We are getting married  _ today _ . We can have the party later."

"Then can we kill my fucking father?"

Ian bounced his eyes around, pretending to give it some thought.

"Yes, then we can kill your father." Mickey's face brightened, some of the stress gone. Ian wagged his finger in front of his face, like Cole had. "But! Only after you sign the paper. I am not testifying against you."

"I'm not the fucking flight risk," he argued. Ian opened his mouth to riposte about committing murder especially while on parole, but Mickey smacked his hand away and kissed him quiet. He was good like that. Offered Ian his bottom lip, teasing and taunting like he always did. 

They eventually had to come up for air, but Ian had no desire to pull back. He kept their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing.

"He won a battle, not the damn war. Today is our wedding day. And after I'm done fucking your brains out on our honeymoon--" Mickey snorted. "You and me will go kick his ass, tie him to a chair, and make him watch the fucking video until his eyes bleed."

"Awww," Mickey intoned, "you say the sweetest things."

"I try."

Mickey's grin turned a little more feral and Ian swung his hips in closer.

"Fuck my brains out, huh?"

Ian smirked, tilting Mickey's chin up, "Uh huh."

Mickey's mouth worked against a smile and Ian tried very hard not to duck down and lick that neck. It was a challenge, but he succeeded most days. Sometimes.

"You get that out of the vows book I gave you?"

"Duh," Ian answered, lifting a hand to mime a headline. "It was right there in the table of contents: Chapter 6, Vowing to Fuck."

Mickey lifted his free hand to Ian's face, stroking like he had when Ian decided not to throw his parole away.

"I love you, too, by the way."

Mickey didn't miss a beat. "Couldn't tell." It pulled a wet laugh out of him, and Mickey leaned forward to drop his forehead into Ian's shoulder. Ian, quickly, bent to pick him up and set him on the dryer, before his hand went numb. Mickey kissed his cheek and leaned back into his arms.

"What would I do without you?"

Ian hummed. "Twenty-five to life, probably."

  
  
  



End file.
